


Shades of Green

by Freckled_Chickenugget



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Cafe AU, College AU, Drunk Sex, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Jean is a huge loser, M/M, Marco has a thing for baking, Sex, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-09 23:50:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2002755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freckled_Chickenugget/pseuds/Freckled_Chickenugget
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean Kirschtien is a professional loser who meets freckled café-owner Marco Bodt on a awful trek back home while sporting a hangover, and the two's relationship becomes more important then Marco's cooking and Jean's partying would ever be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> a lame cafe AU woohoo
> 
> This intro has been sitting around for a few months so it kind of sucks
> 
> Sex will come later so if that's what you were expecting it's not here yet *^*

**~Intro~**

The street seemed to shift beneath his feet, trying to make the partial blonde trip every chance it got, try to make him regret what he had done. The rising sun burned his eyes, and his stomach churned, and his ass just wanted a couch underneath it, but, his stomach felt warm, like a comforting fire was inside of it. That part told him that he was still drunk, that he was probably stumbling across the street, his happiness making him miserable. He would rather be hungover, then both drunk and hungover. It was an awful feeling, his head beginning to throb, the sickness starting to settle, but yet the feeling to make a friend or have one more shot was still present. And it was frustrating. Especially in a confused state.

Twenty-year-old Jean Kirstein was considered a failure. Not a complete failure, as he had some friends and still took college classes, but upon looking at him, Jean was a wreck. The thought of being a failure didn’t bother him as much as it should, Jean was Jean, and he was okay with that. He accepted his pathetic life, with a smile on his face and a strange determination. Well, his determination was usually for the wrong things, but at least he was still steadily working towards his degree in mechanics. Maybe the degree wasn’t even for his own good, it was for his confidence. Even though being a so called failure, Jean still maintained his life. He knew how to take care of himself, he held a somewhat steady job as a waiter, he had a decent apartment that he kept decently clean, life was okay. A little lonely, and a little messy, but okay. Jean was holding through, and he didn’t know why he held through, but he did.

Jean lugged through the small, suspicious, one-person sidewalk that supposedly led back to his apartment complex. He was told by some stranger that it led back to his home, some stranger that Jean trusted in his hazy, drunk state. But Jean had been walking for at least thirty minutes, and he knew his home wasn’t that far away. It was starting to piss him off, but he was more so focused on the headache beginning to form. When he started the walk back to his apartment, he thought about being in his nice warm bed, maybe barfing a little before settling down amongst the duvets and fluffy blankets. But now, Jean just wanted to sit down, find somewhere warm.

He rubbed his shoulders awkwardly, trying desperately to warm his weakened body, the cold of winter targeting him. A cold blast of wind almost sent Jean reeling, and the poor guy stumbled a little, kicking a chunk of blackened snow in the process. At least the sun was beginning to rise. He wanted to call his mom, get her to drive him home, but then mom would yell. Jean was only still twenty, it was still against the law for him to drink. Plus mom would hate him getting this drunk anyway.  

“I’m never drinking again,” Jean grumbled, his voice hoarse, letting out a weak cough afterwards. He considered turning back, but there had to be a restaurant, a gas station, something up ahead. Jean paused, suddenly feeling his stomach lurch, and for a moment he thought he was going to throw up right then and there, but then his stomach calmed and Jean carefully continued walking. He felt so weak, like a small little girl walking through the bad part of town, Jean was shaking, and stumbling, and panting, hugging himself tight. Jean paused again, his stomach doing the same lurch, and then he let out a long moan. He pressed a hand to his stomach, holding it there until it settled once more. “Jesus Christ...”  Even though Jean was sick, he was starved. Strangely starved.

Just as the thought of puking in the middle of the snow came to mind, Jean saw a building in the distance. Too much like a building to be a home, but was friendly, made out of bricks and had a cute little chimney at the top. A chimney with smoke. Three beers plus ten beers equals drunk, smoke equals heat. A cracked, broken smile spread across Jean’s face as he quickly made his way over. He didn’t care what it was, a restaurant, a very strange gas station, Jean needed to be inside of it. He needed to sit down on something, he needed to be warm.

As fast as the hungover Jean Kirstein could go, he made his way to the building from god. He didn’t even know if it was open or not, but oh, there was a building, with a chimney, and the chimney was giving off smoke, and smoke meant heat. Sweet, sweet warmth.

The sign on the cute, brick building read ‘Green Raspberry Café’. The only windows were comfortably placed in the front, and were pretty big,  the sides and the back of the building were entirely brick. A few friendly flowers rested on the windowsills, low enough so that Jean could touch them (but, obviously wouldn’t. Jean didn’t have time for flowers anyway.). Two old-time lamps were stuck to the building above the two windows, the door to get in in the middle of the two behemoth windows. The building from heaven, or the ‘Green Raspberry Café,” made Jean almost melt as it came more into view, a large figure in the window setting up an ‘open’ sign, before disappearing.

Jean went in so fast he almost fell. He opened the door as quickly as possible, not taking time to look at the cozy decor, and instead stumbling a little, checking if his stomach was okay, then sighing in content. The warmth gave him chills, oddly, but a relieved sigh left his dry lips. Jean let his arms, which were slightly numb from hugging himself so tight, drop to his sides at last, and took a quick survey. Bean bags, couches, a few tables, a case with food, a count-.

Wait. Food.

“Food!” Jean said a little too loud. Now, now he was hungry, oddly. Jean was going through a mix of physical oddities. “Oh, sweet mother of pies!” Since Jean was still a little drunk, he awkwardly pressed himself against the glass case, filled with muffins, pies, cookies, scones, and almost every café treat known to man, smiling like an idiot. His breath quickly fogged up the glass, and Jean whipped it away almost as fast as it had appeared, he didn’t want to stop staring at the delicious goodies the Café had to offer. He didn’t know what to get, oh, it all looked so good... That chocolate cake especially... Jean would probably throw up twice as fast, and it would be twice as nasty, and smell twice as bad if he ate that chocolate cake, but oh, Jean didn’t care, it looked delectable. But the store just opened, so the muffins and pies were probably still warm, and that apple pie looked pretty freaking hot. Jean’s mouth was watering, if he had any less self control he’d be drooling, they all just looked so good and fresh, and would sit perfectly in Jean’s churning stomach!

“Excuse me, sir?” Jean jumped. The voice sounded strangely sweet, female, but yet somewhat loud. Plus, Jean was just caught with his face pressed against a glass container holding deserts, in front of a lady. “May I help you?” Jean looked up at the woman, who was now chuckling quietly. Her eyes and hair amber, like a fire running down to her shoulders. Her smile only showing her front teeth, she was clearly trying to suppress multiple giggles from leaving her pretty pink lips.

“Oh, Hi,” Jean muttered awkwardly, straightening up his back with an awkward movement. His thin jacket made a crinkling sound as Jean rubbed his back, the fabric ruffling under his palm. “Eh, I wasn’t-”

“Oh c’mon now sweetie, it’s alright, i’ve seen people worst then you stumble in here. At least you didn’t trip on the doormat.” The red, almost oranged-haired-girl smiled, tapping her fingers on the counter. Jean wanted to throw some sarcastic comeback at her, but he was too hungover, and she was too nice.

He paused. “Almost did.” The female-worker smiled at that.

“Rough night, I assume? Mister Bodt says I shouldn’t get into people’s personal lives, but,” The girl shrugged, biting her lip a little, “I’m not hurting your feelings, so, I don’t see a problem. If I am, tell me to stop.”

“You’re not hurting my feelings,” Jean said, shaking his head, but he immediately regretted that as he was dizzy for a good five seconds after. The girl on the other side of the counter chuckled, and Jean’s eyes couldn’t help but stumble across her name tag.

‘Petra Ral.’

“Petra..” He murmured accidentally, processing the name in the drunken, but yet hungover state. Petra’s eyes widened briefly, she was now more focused than previously, since her name had been called.

“That is my name, sir,” She said with a small laugh, relaxing as she realized Jean didn’t mean to say her name out loud.

“Oh, Yeah, I know, nametag.” Jean said awkwardly, gesturing to the small, plastic tag clipped to her shirt. She rolled her eyes, as a ‘obviously, how else would you know my name?’ before snapping her fingers as she suddenly remembered she was supposed to be doing her job.

“Okay, what would you like, sir?”

“Oh, ehm,” Jean paused, rubbing his chin as he thought. The chocolate cake would kill his stomach, but oh, it looked so tasty and airy and... Mmhh... Jean lit up, his eyes widening a little as he raised a finger, opening his mouth to speak, but quickly went back to his focused state, closing his mouth again. “The uh, apple pie, please.” A pie wasn’t his best choice, but it was probably better than a thick cake.

Petra nodded, quickly fetching Jean his requested order, very happy she didn’t have to make anything this early in the morning. She just had to open the case, get the pie out, put it on a plate, and tada, done. “Thanks for not making me make you a coffee,” She said, sliding the pie over the counter after placing a plastic fork besides it. “That’ll be three fifty, sir.”

Oh. Shit. Jean’s eyes widened as he quickly patted his pockets, front and back, realizing his wallet was at his apartment. He forgot about paying. There wasn’t even a cent hiding in the depths of his pants pockets, Jean had nothing to pay with. Fuck, he had gotten so excited...! Jean frowned, sighing as he shook his head slowly. “I don’t... I left my wallet at home...” He said with a pout as if he were a child. Petra crossed her arms, frowning as well.

“Oh.”

“Sorry for wasting your time, Petra.”

“I would buy it for you, but I just spent all my cash on groceries last night too...” Jean lit up a little, even though Petra said she couldn’t, it was still nice that she thought about paying for him. But Petra’s expression lit up again, and she snapped her fingers, “Marco has to have money though! He’s way too nice to let your cute little face down!”

“I’m twenty,” Jean muttered with a smile, “I’m not cute.”

Petra shook her head, before slipping into a door that was behind the counter, Jean guessed it led to the kitchen. He heard some talking, but it was too far for him to really hear. Marco? Was that her boss or something?... Hah, polo....

Petra came out a few moments later, quickly sliding the pie closer to Jean, smiling warmly. “Boss covered it.” Jean sighed in relief. Yes, pie...!

“Marco’s your boss, right?” Jean asked, cocking his head a little. Petra nodded. “Weird name. Marco. It’s like, Marco polo or something.”

“Trust me, his name isn’t the only thing you’ll notice about him, he’s covered in freckles from like, head to toe. He’s adorable.” Jean chuckled at the comment, oh, girls were so quick to talk about how guys look. This Petra chick was nice, and Jean felt like he was making a friend, almost. “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your name?”

“Oh, Jean.”

“John, well, that’s a common name.” Jean immediately picked up the way Petra said his name as incorrect.

“No, Jean, it’s french.” Jean said, staring at the delicious looking pie. It was so fresh, the perks of getting to a cafe early enough were great. “It’s like ‘Sh-john’.”

“Jeeaan,” Petra said slowly, now putting some sort of mock french accent on it. Jean chuckled, carefully picking up the plate the slice of pie rested on. Petra too giggled, shaking her head a little. “Sorry. Names are interesting. First time I met Marco I made fun of his name for days, but, he doesn’t seem to take it too seriously, so why not?” Jean smiled and nodded. “Then I made fun of his freckles.”

Jean headed to a couch, and set himself down on it as slow as possible, enjoying every action and moment of sitting. And once his tired, lazy ass hit the leather couch, he let out a loud, over dramatic sigh. He was full of relieved sighs today. Jean just enjoyed the comfort of sitting on his ass for a few moments, just taking in the beautiful feeling of no longer standing on his two feet, before cautiously taking a bite of the pie.

It was hot, and it made Jean recoil a little, but it only proved how fresh it was. It was fresh, and strangely professional but yet as good as a homemade pie. It had a small kick of cinnamon, and oh, the apples were soft but yet crisp at the same time. Jean let out a satisfied hum, oh god this was delicious...! He started digging into the amazing peice of food, his hunger taking over, not allowing him to enjoy it completely. But even without trying to enjoy it, it was still delicious beyond words. The heat of it warmed Jean’s cold insides, and no longer burned his tongue.

 

Jean looked up when he heard the familiar giggling from the counter, the same giggling he had heard when he pressed his face against the glass. Petra still stood at the counter, watching him closely. Petra was cute, not Jean’s kind of woman, but she was still cute. Scrawny, and small, but pretty. “You’re really enjoying that.”

Jean nodded, swallowing a bite of the pie before speaking, “It’s fucking amazing!” He said, somewhat loudly. The only reason Jean had swore was because he was completely alone, besides the workers. “I mean, wow. It’s like, wow, how do you make this stuff?”

“I don’t make ‘em, don’t ask me,” Petra said with a chuckle, “I doubt Marco would tell you though, he’s protective over his pie recipes. I make the small stuff, like the cookies and scones, so I could tell you that!” Jean rolled his eyes a little while Petra smiled, “But of course, Marco’s the baking legend, and not poor, unnoticed Petra Ral.”

“Hey, you’re pretty cool,” Jean said, taking another bite of the pie. Petra smiled, shuffling her feet a little. “I don’t think someone on the job has ever talked to me this much.”

“You’re interesting, mister Jean.”

“Thanks, I think.” Jean rubbed his neck, for some odd reason that gesture was calming for him, and Petra smiled. Jean took another bite of pie, contently watching Petra start to organize some desserts and get the coffee machine running. Everything felt okay mentally, Jean was starting to feel sick again, and he was awfully antsy, but oh well. As long as everything was mentally okay, Jean was okay.

Everything was quiet besides the ruffle of... Well, something behind the counter, and the occasional beep from the kitchen. The whole place reeked of coffee beans, which was actually rather calming, and Jean almost drifted off once or twice. The calm, the warmth, and the over all sleepy-feel was interrupted by a beep louder than all the others coming from the kitchen, and the loud scream of “Hot!”

Jean paused, furrowing his brow, leaning over a little too see the kitchen door. Petra, who was bent over behind the counter, stood, wearing the same expression that Jean did, eyebrows furrowed, a small, confused frown placed on her lips.

The beeping stopped, and then more yells from the kitchen commenced. “Ow, ow, ow, oww...! Hot, hot, hot, hot...! Oh gosh, that’s gonna be a blister, a bad, bad blister, Petra, come here and take the cupcakes out before they burn!” Jean the familiar hum of water turning on, which he was very used to as when anyone turned on the water in his apartment building, the whole building heard it. That was followed by more ‘ows’ and ‘goshes’, and Jean couldn’t help but smile at the absence of swear words. Petra retreated to the kitchen, and Jean couldn’t help but eavesdrop on the conversation in the kitchen.

“What did you do?”

“I kinda tried taking the cupcakes out without an oven mitt.”

“Marco! Why did you think that was a good idea?”

“I wasn’t thinking properly, okay? I’m tired!”

“God, that’s a bad burn, come on.” Despite the voice, that Jean assumed to be this so-called Marco, yelling, it was somewhat gentle, quiet. Not exactly shy, just gentle. “Marco, don’t cry, c’mon, I’ll put some burn stuff on it or something.”

“Do we have any customers, or...? I don’t want anyone to see this-!”

“Just one, he’s cool though.”

The kitchen door opened with a quiet ‘thwap’ noise, and Jean cocked his head, watching closely as Petra excited, but followed by a male Jean had never seen. Quickly Jean studied the large man, who made Petra look like a tiny ant. The guy wasn’t much taller than Jean, maybe a few inches taller, but nothing drastic. The real difference was the guy’s build, he was clearly muscular underneath the black polo shirt he wore, and it made Jean a little jealous. His skin was also darker, but he was still clearly just a white man with a tan. His tan though was dotted in the most distinguishable feature this man had, all those fucking freckles. It wasn’t even the number of freckles that were so crazy, it was their dark shade, his freckles were almost black. They dotted just his cheeks and the bridge of his rather large but button shaped nose, but not only that, they ran down his arms too, and Jean guessed they went down his legs, but Jean couldn’t tell as he was wearing pants. A grey apron that was splattered with frosting and dough stains was tightly hugging the man. But, despite his muscular appearance, he didn’t look at all threatening. There were no sharp points to his body, everything was soft, friendly, even his odd haircut. Jean really couldn’t make fun of anyone’s haircut, because Jean had some weird two-tone undercut. But this guy looked even more pathetic with the childish pout on his face. According to Petra’s brief description from earlier, Jean assumed this was her boss, Marco Bodt.

Petra dragged him out by the wrist, and Jean noticed the burns on his hands almost immediately. Well, Jean wasn’t the only one who was out of it this morning. This so called Marco had some glazed look in his eyes, nothing close to being drunk or hungover, but he was clearly exhausted. Jean knew how that felt.

Petra bent over behind the counter, pulling out a small first-aid kit, and started to file through it. Jean had stopped eating his pie almost entirely to watch this, maybe it was the alcohol giving one last hurrah, but Jean was pretty damn interested in this. “Put your hands on the counter,” Petra said with a quiet sigh, almost like a mother taking care of a child. The freckled male did exactly that, and for a brief second him and Jean locked eyes, before Marco’s eyes slowly fluttered away.

Petra started rubbing Marco’s hands up with something, burn cream, Jean assumed, and Marco started wincing and gritting his teeth together. “What, that doesn’t feel better?”

“You’re being kind of rough...”

“Sorry,” Petra slowed down the process, and it seemed that Marco calmed down a little. Jean took another slow bite of his pie, which wasn’t hot anymore, but was now a comfortable warm. Well, this was a interesting morning.

“What about the rest of the cooking?” Marco asked as Petra began lathering his other hand, and Petra rolled her eyes with a giggle. Like a ‘oh you’ kind of giggle, not a laugh of pointing fun. Marco huffed. “I’m serious! I’m not done frosting the cupcakes, or making the tea, or finishing off that last pie... We’re going to run out of stock by the end of the day!”

“You and your baking,” Petra laughed, shaking her head. Marco frowned, carefully moving his hands off the counter.

“This cafe is my life, Petra.”

“It’s mine too, you man the desk, i’ll finish frosting the cupcakes.” Petra patted the larger male’s shoulder, and started heading to the kitchen. Jean started to wonder if they were dating. Probably not, Petra would have mentioned something, but they acted like a legit couple, just without kissing or hugging.

“The green frosting, Petra!”

“I know it, freckles,” Petra said with a chuckle before disappearing into the kitchen. Once the door stopped moving, and all went silent, Jean got strangely uncomfortable. Like, weirdly uncomfortable. Jean was alone, at a cafe, all besides the owner who now was awkwardly looking around, his burnt hands hovering above the counter. Maybe Jean could pick up his embarrassment. There was a slight blush on his tan skin, but Jean avoided looking at him directly for risk of embarrassing him more.

Since all went silent, Jean jumped when he heard the freckled male speak up. “I’m uh, sorry, about that...”

Jean shook his head, “It’s, uh, okay.” Awkward, awkward, really, really awkward, Jean thought, knitting his brows together.

“I don’t normally burn myself, I just,” The freckled male shrugged. Jean could tell this guy was trying to save his business from losing a customer, but really, Jean didn’t see why it was such a big deal. “Getting up at four every morning and baking for four hours straight isn’t the best thing for the head, heh.”

“Hey, your pie was pretty good.” Jean poked a piece of the crust, which was now the only thing left over, before popping the last of it into his mouth.

 

“Thanks.” Marco’s eyes fluttered down for a moment, and Jean couldn’t help but marvel over how long his eyelashes were. For such a big guy, he looked so innocent. But it strangely fit. “I didn’t burn myself making that one.” Marco let out a lofty chuckle, a tired smile spreading across his lips. The tiredness of it though didn’t mean it wasn’t genuine, Marco had a nice, friendly smile.

“That’s good,” Jean said with a small smile back, nodding, “So you’re uh, Marco, right? Petra told me your name, not like I stalk you or anything.”

Marco huffed a little, but his smile didn’t detire. “Yeah. I’m Marco.”

“Nice to meet you, I’ll be coming back here, your cooking is like it came from the... The god of baking or something. It’s fucking amazing.”

Marco smiled again, this time wider, “Thank you.” Marco’s tone seemed to sweeten up from a tired, lazy tone to something more lively. It was tame, though, and gentle. Something that Jean had never heard coming out of another male. It was a nice change from his screaming ‘friends’. Someone peaceful, someone caring, and someone who obviously had a thing against curse words.

Jean got up to put the plate where the other dirty plates where, a bin on top of a garbage can, but then realized he still had to walk home. Jean frowned a little, “Hey, erm, Marco...” Jean muttered, looking towards the brunette who now seemed to be checking over the coffee machine. Marco immediately looked up from what he was doing, and raised a single brow, as if asking ‘yes?’.

“Do you know the quickest way to Trost avenue, by any chance?”

Marco smiled again, but this time he wore the same smile Petra had earlier, the way a mother looks upon a child. “Its right around the block.”

Jean gawked a little, furrowing his brows. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Marco looked back towards the coffee machine, pressing a few buttons on the machine, and it made some kind of beeps with made Marco bite his lips in worry.

Well, maybe that wasn’t the quickest way home, but Jean had been going in the right direction... “Oh, thanks.” But hey, Jean didn’t have to walk too far, he didn’t have to walk too far which was nice. Jean was only a few minutes from his bed, oh, bed sounded so good right now, and so did sleep.

Plus, a cafe selling delicious cake, cookies and pie was right around the block. Jean would definitely be coming back here, there was no way he couldn’t avoid coming here again.

 **  
**Little did Jean know, though, that soon the thing keeping him coming back wasn’t a delicious pie or a savory cookie. No, it was the man making the treats, a dorky, freckled baker by the name of Marco Bodt.


	2. New Job

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My writers block was beyond bad when I was writing this  
> I forced myself to write it so it's short, and kind of sucky  
> Sorry bout that  
> and fuck I am so bad at writing Petra bleh

Jean let out a low groan that consisted of everything but happiness. He was busy whining wordlessly about his pathetic life, trying to reach for the remote control, much too busy in self-loathing to study for his finals in his Statistics 3 class. A choked whine passed the blondes lips as he finally reached the remote, clasping it, and immediately changing the channel from what was currently on. But of course, Jean’s luck failed (like always), and he was forced to turn on Sixteen And Pregnant, which was the only good thing on. Jean badly needed to get netflix...

Huddling back down in the three blankets he had thrown on himself, Jean sighed in slight relaxation, the guilt of choosing not to study still stabbing the back of his head. But, he drowned out the mental screams of ‘you’ll regret this later’ with the sounds of teenagers giving birth from the television easily, getting lost in the pointless show. Jean was constantly freezing if he wasn't sporting at least three blankets, the landlord had shut off his heat one Jean didn’t collect enough money to pay for it. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad in the summer or fall, but right in the middle of the brutal winter, Jean was absolutely miserable. Money was tight, after he had gone to that party last week and went to that cafe he had gotten forcefully fired. Apparently that party took place on one of his shifts, and boss thought that was the last straw. And of course, Jean’s of-the-moment-promise he had made to himself ‘never to drink again’ wasn’t kept, Jean still owned a secret pack of beer in the fridge in times of need. By times of need, Jean meant late nights when he watched TV, alone, and his beer was literally begging him to come and drink.

The owner of that party, Eren Yeager, was not a loser, unlike Jean. Eren threw the best parties, had an overwhelming amount of friends, a sexy step sister, and his doctor-dad was rich up-the-ass. Jean was jealous, Eren was about as good as he was. The two were both underage drinkers, watched TV all night, single, and procastinated everything. They even went to the same college. But, Eren’s dad was rich, so of course Eren had an overwhelming amount of friends and parties. And Eren’s dad sucked at being a dad, so Eren was able to buy all the beer he wanted. Jean just wanted to punch his stupid, expensive face. But Jean had to admit Eren’s parties rocked, and his buddy Armin was pretty cool.

Jean got sick of the over-dramatic girls and their babies on the tv fast, and the teen could basically hear his stomach growling. The only food Jean had in the house was stale cereal and beer, so he didn’t bother checking the kitchen, instead he let out another whine. He knew what was good for him and what wasn’t, a beer probably wouldn’t be the best choice. Nor would it be filling.

But then Jean suddenly remembered the small cafe that was just a block away, and that sweet apple pie, Petra and that freckled-baker-from-heaven, and more importantly; food. And now that Jean had the warm memories of the cafe in his mind, he couldn’t shake them. He craved an apple pie now, or that sickly sweet chocolate cake that he saw. Jean could almost fucking taste it. And with a series of low moans, Jean rose from his couch, hardly thinking before grabbing his wallet and sliding on his jacket. He really didn’t want to go anywhere, but he was starved, and his urge to eat dominated his urge to sleep. Jean made sure he had a few dollars in cash before starting to trek to the warm, coffee-scented cafe.

Jean kicked some chunks of blackened snow on the way, making sure to avoid his angry landlord on the way out of the apartment, yelling at some idiot who hadn’t stopped at a stoplight and almost ran him over. A pretty normal walk. Jean hated the cold, so he hugged himself tightly on the way there, trying to keep the cold out of his cheap winter jacket. Once he made it inside, the warmth of the cafe was just as refreshing it was the first time. Jean hadn’t been in such a warm place since last week, and the place smelt so much like coffees, hipsters and sugary treats it nearly made Jean fall over.

The place wasn’t too busy, but it was certainly more busy then the first time Jean came. A bearded man on his laptop in the corner, a blonde woman eating a scone on the exact opposite side of the room, and a teenage boy sitting on the couch. Jean took a few moments to enjoy the things the cafe had to offer, before happily trotting over to the counter. This is the first time he had been this relaxed without being drunk in a while.

This time that red-head wasn’t there. What was her name again...? Something with a P... Petra! That’s it! Instead of small little Petra, there was an empty void at the counter. Jean raised a brow, tapping his fingers at the counter. He knew what he wanted, a chocolate cake. This time he wasn’t drunk and he knew he wasn’t going to throw it up. And a coffee would be great right now, that overwhelming smell was as intoxicating as a beer. Jean waited, and waited, growing gradually puzzled, his curiosity getting the better of him and he leaned over the counter.

Jean caught sight of Petra’s boss, that freckled guy, diligently and silently knelt behind the counter. He was shuffling something around in a cupboard, his long legs bent at an odd angle, Jean thought he kinda looked like he was hovering. His brows were furrowed, making him look oddly intense. But Jean couldn’t get the vision of that scene a week ago out of his head, so a small smile spread across his face. What was that guy’s name again..? Mark or something like that. The male behind the counter leaned over, not even noticing Jean, sticking his head inside the cupboard, his strong arms reaching inside as well.

Maybe Jean should say something...

“Hey, uh, excuse me?”

The freckled male jerked and hit his head on the cabinet top. What a fucking dork. Jean held back his laughter as best as he could, having to cover his mouth and bite down on his lip to stop any giggles. The other pulled out from the cabinet, rubbing his head, and in seconds he was up by the counter, wearing the biggest, dumbest smile Jean had ever seen.  

“Good afternoon, sir! Sorry about the wait!” Marco. That was his name. Jean smiled slightly in triumph. “May I take your ord-, hey, wait a second, you’re that guy who lives on Trost Avenue, right?”

Jean was a little taken aback by that almost immediately. Marco had remembered him? Jean thought maybe Petra would, but Marco only talked to him for a few seconds. Jean didn’t know if he had told this guy his name yet, either. It’s freaky that Marco remembered what street he lived on too. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“You look a lot better when you’re not hung over,” Marco said with a smile, and it was now Jean noticed Marco had dimples that looked much like endless pits when he smiled. He studied Jean for a second, deep brown eyes meeting amber ones for a split second. “Woah, I never noticed, you have amber eyes! That’s so cool!” Marco blurted out happily, making Jean jump back, his smile almost doubling in size.

“Eh?” Jean murmured, cocking his head to the side. Marco was getting awfully excited about Jean’s eye color, that smile was ridiculously large.

“I mean,” Marco started, “Thats the rarest eye color, I think, either that or grey,” Marco explained, doing these small little hand motions as he talked. He was wearing a white apron this time which looked to be even more stained than the one Jean saw last week,  but he wore the same black button-down as he had. The button-down looked mismatched with the apron, there wasn’t a single stain on it.

Jean smiled lightly, “Thanks?” He said, cocking his head to the side. Marco nodded in return, “You must study eyes or something.”

Marco chuckled lightly and shook his head. Jean noted this guy had the actions, and appearance of someone his age, maybe a little older. Even though Marco was rather lively, everything he did seemed calm, slightly slow. “Nah, I’m just a baker. Went to a culinary school all my life,” Marco said with a shrug. Jean got the impression that Marco was one of those guys that went on a healthy walk every morning and never swore, someone who never went out past ten o’clock. Just from a first impression. Marco seemed sweet, but the only other friends he probably had were his co-workers or something. Or at least that’s what Jean thought. A healthy life.“Well, hah, anyways,” Marco started, tapping his fingers on the dark-colored counter with a quick tap, “May I take your order?”

Jean ordered the chocolate cake he so badly wanted, and ended up buying a coffee. Even though Jean needed all the money he could get, it was just so tempting, he couldn't not buy a coffee. Jean hadn’t had a coffee in ages, as Jean usually bought beer over coffee. And it wasn’t shitty, it was possibly the best coffee Jean had ever gotten for a buck twenty five. It was somewhat sweet, but had that bitter kick at the end that made Jean shiver in the best way. He left the counter with a quiet ‘thanks Marco’, and the man behind the counter replied with a humble ‘My pleasure’.

The chocolate cake was amazing, just as good as the pie last week, if not better. For about fifteen minutes, Jean made noises of satisfaction and savored the cake as if it was the last thing he’d ever eat, it was too good not to. Plus, the only thing Jean had back home was cereal, and that would probably be it for a while.

Once Jean moved on from the cake to the coffee, the kitchen door behind the counter swung open, and behind it came that tiny little girl Jean had seen in the first place. Petra. Jean wasn’t sure if he should call her out, so he just awkwardly stared. He kind of wanted to talk, talking felt oddly nice, especially in such a calm setting. The only chance he got to talk with other people his age was when he was drunk at a party. Either that or he was arguing. But, these people seemed to enjoy his company, he liked the small chit-chat. Jean had noticed this place seemed knew, the lack of people here was a clear sign of that, but the way Petra and Marco had been working just seemed awkward. Plus, only two people worked here. Petra slunk across the floor, going to Marco behind the counter.

“Hey, it’s my break, right?” Petra asked quietly, and Marco seemed ponder the question for  a moment before nodding. Jean had only had two jobs in the past, but he assumed at least Petra was new. Anyways, Jean hadn’t even noticed this place before and he lived a block away, it must be new. Petra trotted out from behind the counter, and Jean noticed her orange-y hair was tied back into a short ponytail, some sweat beading at her forehead. Jean wished he would sweat at home, anything better than freezing to death. Jean would go over someone else’s house, but, he really didn’t have anyone to seek out for help without getting his pride damaged. Jean’s pride was a fragile thing. Sometimes he could be the cockiest douchebag out there, but once his pride got faltered in the slightest, Jean would go into a slump. Sometimes there was this nice intermediate point where Jean would feel good, and not be a total jerk.

But to Jean’s pleasure, Petra some how spotted him. She stared back at him with a squint, and golden brown eyes met with amber ones. Petra shuffled over awkwardly, carefully maneuvering around a few chairs, “Hey, you’re that guy who came in last week? uh, Jean, right?”

Jean lit up with a smile. Someone actually bothered to remember him for once. Jean felt closer than the people who worked here than his friends, weird. “Yeah.” Jean replied with, nodding his head in response. “Hi Petra.” The blonde girl seemed just as pleased that Jean had been able to remember her name too, her smile growing bigger in size.

To the ashen-haired man's surprise, Petra nonchalantly plopped down in the seat next to him, like they had been friends for years. Jean figured maybe Petra was trying to flirt with him or something, as they had only talked for a good fifteen minutes, and that was a week ago, and she’s a god damn fucking waitress. Jean didn’t mind though, of course. He liked the company.

“So,” Petra began.

“So,” Jean repeated awkwardly. Jean surprisingly had been flirted with a lot by random girls, as he had to admit, he had gotten some good genes. The only shitty thing being no-matter how hard he worked out he couldn’t get bulkier. Girls found that whole ‘bad-boy’ get-up Jean wore attractive, but when they found out he wasn’t all that, he was usually dumped. Sadly, girls usually found out Jean wasn’t at all a ‘bad boy’ after about an hour, so that left poor, lonely, twenty-year-old-Jean Kirschstein a complete virgin. Anyhow, Jean wasn’t even completely straight. He really didn’t have the chance to think about it, he believed he was bisexual, or something like that. He really didn’t know. But when girls saw him eyeing other men at parties, it almost always scared them off.

But, instead of what Jean thought was going to be some set up thing, something that came to as a shock came out of Petra’s lips. “Do you have a job?”

Jean was so surprised he didn’t reply for a few moments. “I did.” He said plainly, trying not to seem like the total bum that he was. Jean was an expert at covering his bum-ness, he made sure to constantly look decent. Well, besides today. He didn’t look awful, he just looked ‘okay’.

Petra seemed to light up, why would someone be so excited that someone was jobless? “Great!” She chirped, which earned a confused scowl from Jean. “I mean, It’s good, for Marco, and me, um, we’re hiring. If you need a job.”

Ah, just what Jean needed. A job. Heat. And, Petra and Marco were friendly people, so Jean could probably get along with them just fine. Jean needed some extra money to pay for his heat, hell, he needed to pay his rent soon too. But, Jean didn’t really know how to reply. “I can’t cook. Like, at all. I draw a little, but that’s it.” Jean said with a shrug, and Petra giggled quietly, an amused kind.

“You don’t need to cook,” Petra said, slapping her hand around in the air like it was some kind of dead animal.

“Okay?” Jean cocked his head to the side.

“You’d work the register, go out and buy ingredients with the cafe’s money, nothing too hard.” Jean knew there was a grocery store nearby that he could walk too, so not having a car wasn’t too much of a burden. “We’re constantly running out of milk.” Petra added with a smile, “No cooking necessary.”

“How much is pay?”

“Nine dollars an hour.”

“Sweet.”

Nine dollars an hour was a decent pay, especially without having to suffer through being yelled at by a bitchy boss. Plus, the old restaurant Jean waited at was freezing, and this place was nice and warm. And, no running around from table to kitchen. Jean tapped his fingers on the table, using his other hand to rest his head on, biting his lip in thought. Petra stared at him expectantly, but not too forcefully, more of a ‘take-your-time’ kind of thing. A pleasant glare.

“Sounds good,” Jean said at last, and Petra smiled.

“Great, Marco’s been really stressed out these last few days, he’s basically been taking care of everything here,” Petra explained, “And its sad seeing sweet ole’ Marco all upset.” Jean smiled with that, eyeing the freckled man behind the counter who, thankfully, wasn’t paying attention to their conversation. That’d be awkward if he was. “You’ll still have to do the job interview but I doubt Marco won’t give you the job.” Jean nodded again, it sounded great to him. Nine dollars an hour should be just enough to pay his rent, and by next month he should be able to get his heat back if he’s lucky. Also, Petra and Marco both seem like they’d be nice co-workers. With a somewhat awkward, but yet sly smile, Petra took a piece of paper out of her pocket and slid it across the table. Jean could feel the dread settle in his stomach, thinking ‘oh no, its her phone number’! But, it wasn’t, it was just the cafe’s card, along with Marco’s, and Petra’s number on it. A career thing, not a flirt thing. Jean took the card and shoved it deep into his pocket with a small wink.

“So,” Jean began, branching off on a new conversation with Petra. He felt strangely comfortable around Petra, now that he knew Petra wasn’t flirting, and it was clear she genuinely liked talking to him from the look on her face. “This place is new, right?”

Petra nodded quickly in response, “Around two weeks old. Marco was going to start it on his own, but since we were friends I started to help him. He can be awfully stubborn sometimes, but he really does appreciate help.”

Ha, sounded like the exact opposite of Jean.

Jean didn’t try to start things on his own, and at the same time he convinced himself to not let others help him. Jean wanted close friends but at the same time he didn’t. He was scared to have a close friend. Someone who knew all of your secrets, someone who knew all about you, someone who could do anything to you and you wouldn’t even notice, it sounded more threatening to Jean then it did nice.

Petra and Jean talked a little bit more about the cafe, about themselves, Petra went even as far as asking Jean his favorite color and Jean asked her the same question, and before he knew it Petra had to go back to work. He left the cafe with a small wave to Petra. But, Petra wasn’t the only one to wave back, Marco did too.

Jean trudged back into the cold, snowy world outside the small cafe with a sad huff and a sigh. The cafe was the happiest place in the world to him right now.

Shit. He still had to study for class finals.

/**/

****  
  


After the most awkward phonecall of Jean Kirschtien’s life, he had schuedueled a job interview. And after the most awkward interview, Jean landed a job in the warmest cafe on earth. But now Mister Bodt knew more about Jean then Jean fancied him knowing. The only thing that was left out was Jean’s current money situation and the fact that Jean had been underage-drinking since he was sixteen. That was something Mister Bodt couldn’t know.

The cafe rules basic and easy to follow, and seemed a little bit more laid back then his old job did.Number One, don’t smoke or drink on cafe grounds. Marco has asthma and Petra used to have an alcohol problem. And Marco doesn’t like the idea of beer. Number Two, Don’t touch Marco’s baked goods unless you’re giving them to a customer or Marco gives you full permission. Jean has started to think Marco’s treats are like his children. Number Three, No swearing. Number four, the customer is always right. Number five, Marco is always right too so never question him. Easy enough.

The best thing is there isn’t any uniforms, so Jean could show up in his leather jackets if he wanted to. Just no curse words on clothes or anything. To Jean, Mister Bodt seems kind of like a party killer. Of course the whole no drinking and no swearing thing is reasonable, but outside of work, Jean assumes Marco’s kinda boring. He’s clumsy, he says ‘gosh’, he wears wrinkle-free polos all the time, Marco seems like a goodie-goodie. Jean likes him, he’s nice and really gentle, but Jean just can’t help but think he probably irons his underwear in the morning. Petra on the other hand was pretty cool. She was friendly, and nice, and outgoing, Jean really liked her. He could tell he wasn’t attracted to Petra, she was a little too petite for his taste, but she looked to be like a fun friend to have. The thing Marco and Petra had in common was the fact that their voices were both so oddly soothing in very different ways. Marco sounded like he could read you a bedtime story and you’d be asleep in seconds, while Petra had a very convincing voice, like if you were sad she could cheer you up in a matter of seconds. Also the two of them were very friendly in different ways, Marco seemed more like a genuine mother-figure while Petra seemed like a close friend. Both were just as good to Jean.

Since the two were both very interesting, on the way to his new job in the early afternoon, Jean was telling himself not to get up in social relationships. That shit always messed him up. He needed to focus on work, and to focus on paying his rent. If he didn’t pay it this month he’d be kicked out. The thing was, Marco explained that if he didn’t try his best, he wouldn’t be paid nine dollars an hour. And Jean needed that, bad.

Jean went through the back this time, he couldn’t help feeling cool as he did. It was like a secret passageway. A secret passageway that led to multiple bags of flower and a oven, but a secret passageway nonetheless. Really, the back room wasn’t all that special, just a very clean kitchen with a long counter top, with drawers and shelves of supplies and ingredients.

At first Jean was a little lost as he trotted through the back room for the first time, confused on what to do, until he saw Petra step into the room, and if Jean remembered correctly, from the door that led to the front desk and the actual restaurant. “Afternoon Jean,” She called, walking over to him with a small smirk, “You look confused. Nice leather jacket.”

Jean inhaled, letting out a quiet ‘huh?’, forgetting for a moment that he was even wearing a jacket. He rubbed the back of his neck, it was painful admitting that he was confused, “Hah, yeah, I am... And thanks?” Jean’s hands dropped back down to his side, “What exactly am I supposed to do?”

Petra pursed her lips playfully, “I don’t know.”

“Really?” Jean asked, raising his eyebrow. He took his attention away from the girl to begin untying his tie, damn, it was hot back here.

“Yeah. Might wanna ask Marco later when he comes back here,” Petra said with a shrug, wordlessly snatching Jean’s scarf and taking it to a coat rack. Jean was going to murmur a thanks, but he decided not too, because she did it kind of rudely and Jean was a fucking baby. Petra happily trotted over to the oven, switching it onto the ‘350’ setting, and looked back at Jean with a smile. “For the time being, do you want to help me bake some cookies?”

That was right, Petra did say she baked the small stuff. Jean looked nervously at her, Jean couldn’t cook, fuck, he couldn’t even make eggs in the morning.

“Don’t give me that look, you can just stir the ingredients. I don’t think it’ll spontaneously combust if you touch it,” Petra said with a laugh, and Jean rolled his eyes with a small huff.

“Yeah but I’m a man. I don’t make cookies.”

Petra made a small noise, her lips pursing, and now it was her turn to roll her eyes. “Don’t give me that, Kirschstein,” Petra said, and Jean had forgotten that both Petra and Mister Bodt now knew his last name, “Marco can toss one hundred pounds of flower like it’s nothing, and he bakes constantly. Baking isn’t just for girls, mister Kirschstein.” Jean eventually gave into Petra’s pleas of ‘bake cookies with me!’, and he ended up doing all the fetching of the ingredients while Petra did all the fun stuff, Petra looked so content that Jean actually got jealous. Jean wished he could cook sometimes. Life would be a lot easier for him. Food was something that was hard to get hold of, Jean didn’t starve or anything, he more so chose not to eat most of the time because what he had in the house was shit. Stale cereal, granola bars, instant ramen, it wasn’t really the food of kings, that was for sure.

What good came out of baking the cookies was that Jean and Petra both snuck one before Jean went out to give them to Mister Bodt.

When Jean went out into the cafe, Jean was surprised. There was a ton of people. Not like, overflowing, but at least one person sat at each table. No one was really ordering anything right now, and Mister Bodt was contently standing at the counter, leant over so Jean got a clean shot of Marco’s back muscles.

“Holy Sh-!” Jean blurted out at how surprisingly busy it was, and Marco almost reacted within seconds, clearing his throat obnoxiously loud and hitting his chest. “Oh, I mean, uh, wow,” Marco made a sound of content along with a friendly smile. “It’s busier than I thought.”

“Yep,” Marco chirped back, straightening his back. Jean cringed when he heard this weird popping sound come from Marco’s back, but whatever it was Marco was relieved about it, because he suddenly looked like the most relaxed person on earth. “Pretty neat, huh? Apparently cafe’s like this are mainstream. Starbucks is old school now.” Marco flashed Jean a cheeky smile, and Jean couldn’t help but think ‘what a dork’ before handing Marco the tray of cookies, the freckled male gave him a quiet ‘thanks’, before Jean dipped back into the kitchen.

Marco wasn’t the most attractive man ever. Jean knew that for sure, he had seen other men at parties who had Marco’s body type but were a lot more handsome than he was. Marco wasn’t ugly, either, Marco was just in the middle. Well, at least to Jean he was. Jean usually judged people more on their personality than their looks, so Jean really couldn’t say, as he didn’t know Marco very well. All he knew about him is that he was nice, gentle, had a voice like Elijah Wood, never swore and had asthma. Marco was handsome, but Jean had seen much better. Marco was on the cuter scale of things, but like, a manly cute. Jean didn’t know how that made sense in his head, but it did.

Basically, Petra explained that she really didn’t do much. She baked cookies, and she worked the register when it was her turn, so she assumed Jean would be doing the same. Petra seemed pretty excited about having Jean now, Jean assumed it was because Petra was lonely and now she finally had someone to talk to. Jean assumed Petra liked to talk, and Jean really didn’t mind, he listened intently to the girl. Petra wasn’t hyper, either, she was just very friendly, like Marco. Jean noticed Petra was open, unlike him.

Jean didn't’ really know why he was so secretive. Jean was honest, but in a weird way. He didn’t like telling people too much about himself, but yet he wasn’t afraid to brag. Jean didn’t lie, that was maybe the only positive thing about himself he could recognize. Jean didn’t hate himself either, he just recognized that he wasn’t the best guy ever. He knew he wasn’t that ‘perfect boyfriend’ that girls explained, but he wasn’t a douchebag either. He was just ‘meh’. Jean hadn’t had friends all his life, a few people that were friendly towards him, but no real friends. The saddest thing Jean remembered was back in elementary school, when everyone would use those butt-board-scooter-things in gym, and everyone had a partner to push them around. Everyone but him. Watching the other kids made him want to double over and cry. Then came highschool, and the nickname ‘horseface’, because he had a long face and a sharp nose, but Jean really didn’t think he had a horse face. He acted as if it were a joke, and he’d laugh to, and try to be cool like Yeager, but it really fucking hurt sometimes. The nickname had ceased now that highschool was over, but it still affected Jean pretty bad. Same thing with his dumb haircut, the same dumb haircut that hasn’t changed since Sophomore year of high school. But Jean liked his hair. No one else did that Jean knew of.

Jean didn’t mind listening to Petra and not talking. Jean loved to talk, but he more so liked to talk to people he trusted. Or, he assumed he would like talking to people he trusted. Petra was an interesting girl, he liked listening to her lovelife, and her weird stories about Marco, and this other guy named Bertholdt who was apparently Marco’s friend, he stopped by sometimes, and he was really sweaty or something like that. But, eventually, Marco’s shift was over and it was time for Petra to take over, and Jean was left alone, with Mister Bodt. The man who probably irons his underwear.

As soon as Marco came into the back room and Petra left, Marco started sorting through the fridge, and the cupboards, and just about everything while jotting stuff down on a piece of noteboard paper. He mumbled quiet things to himself, walking around the room while tapping the pen he had on his chin, and Jean found the whole display really fucking weird.

“Hey, uh, Mister Bodt?” Jean finally said, his curiosity peaking.

Marco paused, and looked over to him, “Yeah, Jean?”

“What are you doing?”

“Oh, uh,” Marco paused, closing the cupboard he had been sorting through with a slam loud enough to make Jean jump, “I’m writing down the stuff that you’ll need to pick up tonight. At the store. Please.”

“Oh, okay,” Jean nodded, he had totally forgotten about that part of the job. In the mists of talking with Petra, Jean had entirely forgotten that he was actually working. He really didn’t want to walk to the grocery store and lug home a shit ton of food that he couldn’t even eat, and stare at it for a day or two until he had to lug it back to the cafe. Oh well, at least he was getting paid for going grocery shopping. Marco looked as if he were doing some sort of math problem now, mumbling numbers under his breath as the pen scribbled across the paper. Jean wouldn’t be surprised if he walked over and saw nothing but scribbles on the paper, Marco was writing faster than humanly possible.

Eventually, Marco stopped, and shoved the yellow paper into Jean’s hands. Jean was more than relieved to see he could read it. It wasn’t too much, just some different kinds of frosting, eggs, milk, and chocolate chips.

“Here, I’ll give you some money from the register,” Marco said, smiling softly. Jean found Mister Bodt’s best feature was his smile. A lot of men didn’t have a smile as genuine as he did. It was soft, and gentle, but yet brought this overwhelming feeling of friendliness with it. “If my calculations are wrong on the money, you don’t need to buy all the stuff, m’kay?”

“Alright,” Jean said with a nod, biting his lip as he read over the grocery list. If there was anything Jean hated more than clothes shopping with his mom, it was grocery shopping by himself.

“And, you can just drop the stuff off tomorrow if you want, since you have the day off tomorrow you don’t have too, but,” Marco shrugged, “Either bring them in tomorrow or the day after. Doesn’t matter to me.” Marco’s simple expression turned into something more playful in a matter of seconds, and Jean grew a little weary that Marco was going to do something absolutely evil. “And why do you call me Mister Bodt?”

“Uh, uh, Petra told me too, I don’t know...!” Jean murmured quickly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yeah, don’t call me that,” Marco said with a laugh, and Jean felt his face turn slightly hot. Petra had tricked him? It was harmless, but Jean couldn’t help but hold some playful frustration. “Petra seems like someone who would do that, sorry,” Marco sat on one of the many stools scattered throughout the kitchen, his lengthy legs bending in an awkward angle.

“Uhm, Petra also told me that you can throw some pretty heavy stuff,” Jean muttered, wanting to start some kind of conversation so it wasn’t just the two of them, awkwardly sitting in a kitchen. “Is that true, or was she just joking about that, too?”

Marco’s face went red, Jean was a little taken aback by that. Seeing such a big guy go from normal to red as a fucking tomato was weird. “She did?” He muttered, his voice stuttering slightly. Jean took a moment, unsure if he should even respond, but eventually he nodded. “Well, I don’t wanna brag, or anything, but yeah,” Marco shrugged, a nervous chuckle leaving his lips. Jeez, this guy could go from friendly to flustered within seconds... “I’m pretty strong, I guess. I’m a terrible runner though.”

“I’m bad at everything physical,” Jean said with a small huff once the color in Marco’s face started to fade, going back to his normal, tan skin shade. “I guess I have good coordination.. But, eh..” Jean shrugged. Physical information about himself he wasn’t afraid to share, for some odd reason. Jean had spent the rest of his evening chatting with Marco, about stupid stuff, like the weather, and pets, and awkward shit like that. Not once did Marco swear, and Jean realized Marco was more of a listener, as he kept his mouth shut the majority of the time. And Jean found he had talked more to Marco then he had to anyone in a while, which was out of character for Jean, and it freaked him out a little, but no damage done. Yet, at least. Jean was somewhat relieved to walk home, it was starting to get dark, and a little chilly as it always did in winter, so Jean was a little more than happy to be walking home, so he didn’t have to endure walking home in a snowstorm.

But that’s when Jean remembered he had to pick up groceries for Marco, and he dragged himself begrudgingly to the goddamn grocery store, through all the terrible slush, black ice, and the devilish thoughts of his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hate writing sometimes
> 
> I'm try to aim for Jean being the more physically attractive out of the two, while Marco's the mentally attractive one. Because Marco's a precious baby and Jean is a handsome shit wad that we all can't help but love.  
> You can spot all the headcanons I have from three miles away. Jean's an artist, Marco has asthma, ect ect  
> It's also canon that Marco's a slow runner, at least in the manga, he mentions that he's the slowest out of the top ten. Precious bby >v  
> And there will probably be some side Springles, side Reibert, and the quickest mentioning of LevixPetra
> 
> yeah sorry this chapter sucks real bad ugh *^*

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah I like making Marco say 'Gosh'.
> 
> Chapters will get longer, as it goes on, and I have no idea where the hell this'll go. Just some pointless fluff, dorky Marco, and angst, unless I somehow think up a storyline. 
> 
> Thanks for reading *v*


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